


The Headmaster Will See You Now

by arroways



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finishing Schools, Headmaster/Pupil Dynamic, Light BDSM, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arroways/pseuds/arroways
Summary: “This is unseemly,” Rey said, with no real weight behind the accusation. “Hardly befitting for a young lady of society.”“I thought you had no desire to conform to the expectations of society.”





	The Headmaster Will See You Now

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the incredible [Tamara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voicedimplosives/pseuds/voicedimplosives) for being my beta. She is my Victorian AU cheerleader.

“Miss Rey Niima?” came the cool, clipped voice of the school matron, Miss Phasma. “The headmaster will see you now.”

Rey was enrolled in a finishing school for young ladies, The Coruscant Institute. In her early adolescence, she had been taken in as a ward by a grumpy old man named Plutt, eager to earn favor in society; Plutt had thought that taming a street urchin like Rey would give him a charitable reputation. But when Rey turned eighteen and still showed no intention of bending to the whims of the gentry, Plutt had shipped her off here, to Coruscant.

She’d never really enjoyed conforming to what was expected of her. She had always taken every opportunity to sneak out and climb the trees in Hampstead Heath. When she’d turned sixteen, she’d starting sneaking off to the streets and had become quite good at gin rummy and poker, making her an effective gambler.

Her talents were wasted at the Institute, where they ordered her to walk in a circle with the Iliad balanced precariously upon her head.

Rey had never really met the headmaster. They had only ever shared glances at school functions. She would walk by the administrative table at dinner, and curtsy, not breaking eye contact with the man. She had delighted in seeing him shift uncomfortably beneath her gaze, his dark eyes flashing.

Today marked nearly two years at the institute.

She entered his study, closing the large wooden doors softly behind her. He sat behind an ornately carved desk, leather-bound books and knick-knacks crowding the tall bookcases behind him.

He was reviewing her file in his behemoth hands. Kylo Ren was no stranger to misbehaving young women, but they usually fell into line after disciplinary action from Phasma. Few ladies had ever made it to his office before.

“You have been with us nearly two years, and are coming close to your twentieth birthday,” he announced. He shifted in his cushioned seat, looking up at the young lady standing before him. She had lovely hazel eyes and freckles. Freckles were seldom seen at the institute, where the pupils were taught not to spend too much time out in the sun.

“I am aware,” Rey bemoaned, collapsing in a very unladylike manner upon the velveted bench before the headmaster’s desk.

“Pray, could you tell me why that is, Miss Niima?” the headmaster asked, leaning forward on his desk and steepling his hands beneath his chin. “Most young ladies depart the institute after six months. They are able to seamlessly adjust to the expectations set in place.”

“I reckon I keep failing your asinine little exercises,” Rey mused, allowing her eyes to wander around his decadently decorated office. “Oh, and I don’t enjoy wearing the ghastly corsets.”

That’s why she had been sent to his office in the first place. It was unseemly, Phasma had chastised, and it had been her umpteenth transgression.

Kylo held back a chuckle, his eyes twinkling. She was a firecracker, this one.

“Are you wearing one now?” he inquired, leaning back in his chair.

She swallowed. “To my detriment, I’m afraid I am.” She shifted in her seat, the boning digging into her hips as she did so.

“Do you have any desire to find a place in society, Miss Niima?” he asked then, glancing back down at her file. The folio was thick in his hands, much thicker than any other he had come across.

“I suppose I do not, headmaster,” she said honestly.

He straightened in his chair. “Ren. Call me Mr. Ren.”

He _was_ Kylo Ren, but he knew of the rumors that it wasn’t his real name – that he had run from a disgraced family and established himself here. Taken a job in the countryside to start fresh. He would keep the truth a closely guarded secret, and most likely take it to his grave.

“I dare say, Mr. Ren,” Rey continued, “I do not have any desire to find a place in society.”

He appreciated her honesty. Though, seldom did a young lady reject the expectations bestowed upon her. He supposed Miss Niima was a special case.

“Miss Phasma has left it up to me to decide upon a punishment befitting your deviance.”

“Deviance? For failing to wear some whalebone and cloth beneath my bodice? It’s not like anyone could tell.”

“Evidently your schoolmarm could,” he observed.

Rey rolled her eyes and huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Miss Niima!” he bellowed, at her insolent reaction, and she stiffened, gripping the chaise beneath her in surprise.

He collected himself, brushing off nonexistent lint from his impeccable suit jacket. He couldn’t let her get under her skin. This was why he ran administrative matters from afar, rarely interacting with the pupils at the institute.

“You have a thing or two to learn about respect, I gather,” he said in a soft, threatening voice.

She continued to frown in defiance.

He stood from his chair. “Have they not considered that perhaps a more corporal form of punishment would work on you?” he mused aloud.

Rey reddened, worrying at her bottom lip. “I’m not a child,” she seethed.

“I am very aware of that,” he responded, dragging his eyes up and down her form. His gaze lingered longer than it should.

She wore a dress of white lace today, with a high collar and ruffles at the sleeves. She had adhered to the rules and donned a corset as well, of course.

“You could always join the kitchen staff as punishment for a week,” he offered, walking to the edge of his desk and picking up a birch stick. He played with it, running it between his fingers ominously.

She knew other girls who had succumbed to the wrath of a birching. It was common practice for the more unruly of the bunch. Afterward, they had complained of being unable to sit for a week.

But the kitchen over a birching? No, she refused. She didn’t want to serve the other entitled, spoiled girls here at the school.

“I’ll take the birching, thank you,” Rey said, jutting out her chin.

“Well then,” he hummed, the corners of his lips twitching, “the lady has spoken.”

She fumed.

“If you’ll place your hands on the desk in front of you,” he offered. “And lean over. Lift your skirts up to your waist, and pull down your drawers.”

Rey blushed deeply. “My drawers?” she squeaked, looking over at him for confirmation, and he gave her a firm nod.

Kylo watched as she went up to the desk, and did as he said. She gathered her skirts up around her waist as she bent over, and brought her drawers down, baring the soft, creamy white skin of her buttocks and upper thighs to the headmaster. She then placed her hands on the desk in front of her, steeling herself.

He hesitated behind her. She stole a peek over her shoulder quickly and saw heat in his gaze she couldn’t place. His eyes were locked upon her buttocks. He felt dizzy.

“Mr. Ren,” she said hoarsely. “If we could be quite quick about this, it would be much appreciated.”

She had interrupted some reverie, for he shook his head from it and looked up to meet her eyes once more. “Of course. I’m sure you have classes to attend to.”

He couldn’t bear to mar her beautiful skin. There were freckles all over her, like brown sugar sprinkled on a cake.

He brought the stick down upon her. He winced as she let out a little yelp.

It had stung, yet she was still surprised by how lightly he had hit her. _Surely the intensity would increase?_

“Is that it?” she asked, through gritted teeth.

“I’m not sure I can,” he said under his breath. She hardly heard him, looking back over her shoulder at him, holding the stick with a tortured look on his face.

“You don’t need to use the stick, then,” she offered, not fully processing the implication of this suggestion.

He leaned over her then, covering her body with his form, and his fingers intertwined over hers where they rested on the desk. She breathed heavily, turning to meet his gaze.

“Rey,” he breathed, looking back at her. Red, hot magma filled her veins.

Was this _lust_? Like the great Roman poets had written about, in the books she had read by candlelight in the middle of the night?

She leaned forward, trying to bring his lips to hers, but he moved upon her quickly, with another objective in mind.

His hands around her waist, he maneuvered them both to the chaise lounge by the desk.

Kylo arranged her over his lap, rearranging her lace skirts and petticoat to bare her once more to him.

“This is unseemly,” Rey said, with no real weight behind the accusation. “Hardly befitting for a young lady of society.”

“I thought,” he said with a firm thwack of his palm against the flesh of her buttocks, “you had no desire,” he smacked her again, “to conform to the expectations of society.”

She writhed beneath him. His palm was warm and soft and strangely forgiving upon her skin.

“Mr. Ren,” she exhaled softly, reddening again, “If I’m to continue this ruse of being improper, I must say that your ministrations are inciting something I cannot describe within me.” She wondered if she was making any sense at all.

He made a strangled little noise above her, a storm brewing within him.

“Pray tell, Miss Niima.”

She felt wet, warm, hot and throbbing between her thighs. How could she explain that?

Instead, still sprawled over his lap, she slowly spread her thighs slightly, just so.

He audibly choked whilst looking down at her. She was quite the sight. He could see the way the way the rosy flesh of her folds, wet and swollen, glistened in the light of the gas lamps.

Rey had looked down there once, at her maidenhood, covered in soft curls and pink. Folds like the way a rose blooms in the garden. But not even quite. She couldn’t find a way to properly describe or articulate the oddities of the female form.

Rey turned to look over her shoulder. The headmaster was staring down at her spread thighs in awe.

“I – I’m –” he sputtered, taken aback.

“Is this normally what occurs during a birching, Mr. Ren?” Rey inquired, her voice high and curious.

“I rather –” he glanced down to the way her brows were raised on her pretty face.

“By your countenance, I deduce that it is not,” Rey quipped, rather proud of herself for maintaining a semblance of decorum and eloquence whilst she felt as if she was melting beneath his gaze.

He remained silent, dumbfounded by the sight before him.

Rey had to take matters into her own hands, didn’t she? Quite literally. She reached a hand back behind her, rucking her skirts firmly up around her waist, before running a hand down the cleft of her backside and running a finger along the seam of her – well, there were many words for it.

She _was_ rather soaked, wasn’t she?

She pulled her fingers away and brought them back to her face, seeing the way her skin glistened now with moisture.

“Fascinating,” she observed. She brought her hand to her face and inhaled the tangy scent of her.

Mr. Ren looked positively bewildered.

“Why don’t you finish what you started, Mr. Ren?” she asked coyly.

“Pardon me?”

“Were you not to continue doling out a punishment for my deviance?” she simpered.

This awoke something in him, and he was ablaze once more. “Close your legs tightly together, Miss Niima,” he commanded, and she obliged, her thighs shutting once more over his lap.

He resumed his firm spanks across her arse. She continued to whine and squirm under the onslaught, heat spreading throughout her. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

“Mr. Ren,” she sobbed out, finally.

“Yes, Miss Rey?”

“Please,” she begged, looking back at him once more. “Please touch me, I can’t stand it one moment longer.”

One of his hands came to the cleft of her buttocks, stilling there. She cried out at the proximity of where she so desperately needed him. Her thighs spread open slightly once more, if only by a few centimeters.

“Miss Niima,” he breathed. “It is not proper.”

“I thought we’ve established I don’t give a damn about what’s proper,” Rey spat back, desperate.

At that, a finger slipped down to run along the seam of her, and she yelped out. His touch was different than hers. It was curious and firm. His fingers were large and soft, not calloused (as he was a member of the gentry, naturally). He simply gathered the moisture there, soaking his fingers with it.

“Lower,” she begged him. There was a throbbing. He was so close to it. A spot she desperately wanted him to touch, not inside her but at the tip of her folds.

He found it easily. _Was he a scholar of this phenomenon?_ It was like a button of pleasure; she squirmed and writhed as he found and rubbed at it.

His other hand held her steady across his lap as she mewled happily.

“Are you an innocent, Miss Niima?” he inquired, his voice raspy.

She reddened. Of course she was. Many girls her age were not these days, she knew. Some even already had children. Though she even knew some who had engaged in affairs out of wedlock.

She nodded. “I am,” she managed to choke out in a soft voice.

“Then we shouldn’t…” his voice trailed off, his fingers coming to rest on her lower back in a strangely protective stance.

“I don’t give a damn what we should or shouldn’t,” she snapped, feeling dizzy with arousal. If he didn’t touch her, she would literally have to take things into her own hands.

So she did. She slipped her own fingers back towards her maidenhead, trying to slip her way inside, but struggling with the angle and correct positioning, she snarled in frustration.

The headmaster grabbed her wrist and pulled her away, generously replacing her hand with his own.

He cupped her, merely slipping his hand between her thighs and letting it rest there, so close yet still a maddening distance from where she really wanted him.

Growing impatient, Rey began to rock against his palm, trying to get some friction – anything.

Mr. Ren seemed to take mercy on her, miraculously slipping a finger inside of her with little warning. He entered her cunt with a small wet sound, and she writhed at the sensation.

“Yes,” she exhaled, satisfied. “Yes.”

“How does that feel?” he asked, curiosity in his voice.

 _Has no woman ever told him how incredible this feels?_ Rey wondered.

“Why Mr. Ren, are _you_ an innocent?” she tried to chide him, tried to be cheeky, despite the desperation growing in her abdomen.

“I will not dignify that with an answer,” he responded with a growl, and added a second finger.

She gasped loudly. There was a stretch, a slight burn as he did so, but it faded as his fingers curled and beckoned into a spot, _oh what a spot_.

“Right there!” Rey exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically, her forehead chafing against the cushion of the chaise.

It took him a moment of maneuvering, but Ren decided to spank her again, his fingers still inside of her.

He brought his other hand down onto the soft, reddened skin of her arse, watching it jiggle as his palm made contact.

She cried out.

Kylo smiled above her, looking down in awe at the mess he was creating. A beautiful, beautiful mess. He admired the way her creamy skin had flushed, the way a faint handprint remained when he lifted his palm away.

“Incredible,” he murmured, at the debauched scene.

Rey wriggled beneath him. “Please,” she begged him; once again at a loss, unable to articulate precisely what she wanted from him.

He curled his fingers once more, relishing the feel of her velvety soft walls against his skin.

“You’re so soft, Miss Niima,” he praised, his voice hoarse.

Tears of pleasure pricked at her eyes as she felt him curl his fingers within her, that incredible spot that sent jolts of warm, unadulterated pleasure through her limbs.

“Please, Mr. Ren,” she whispered against the cushion. “Don’t deny me so.”

“I thought the purpose of this exercise was discipline,” he thwacked her again, her arse stinging with it, “and punishment.”

She sobbed out, the tears brimming over and running down her cheeks. “It is!” she agreed wholeheartedly. “And I have learned my lesson!”

He looked down at her. “You’re _utterly_ debauched, Miss Niima.”

Rey looked back at him, her hair tousled, her eyes wet, her cheeks red and glistening with tears, and reckoned he must be correct.

“If you do not finish what you started I will go back to the dormitory and touch myself, ruining any other young lady who may happen upon me in such a state. What will I tell them then?” she threatened.

It wasn’t the idea that anyone would find her that infuriated him - it was the idea that it wouldn’t be _him_ to bring her to that peak. And so, with renewed vigor, Headmaster Kylo Ren returned to the task at hand.

He began to apply a firm, steady pressure to the spot that appeared to make her voice go up a few octaves every time he stroked it. He let his thumb caress small circles upon the bundle of nerves at the tip of her folds, increasing his tempo as if she were a piano and he was playing a lively melody. And the sound she made, oh the sounds she made were more harmonious than any Bach or Vivaldi he had ever heard. How she sang for him.

“I believe – I may just –” she tried and failed to speak, incoherent and helpless beneath him. She was trapped in the most delicious way. He would ruin her for all other gentlemen, and she did not mind.

‘What’s that, Miss Niima?” his voice came out broken and raw.

“Something is – I believe I may –” she could not identify the words to describe precisely what was happening. Eloquence was beyond her.

He felt her tighten and clench around his fingers, feeling  _himself_ grow lightheaded.

Meanwhile, she reached a peak of some sort, as if all the tension within her snapped. Her back arched and she wailed, moaning and sighing and squirming upon his lap. He held her still by wrapping an arm around her waist, not wanting her to fall off.

After a few moments, she came down, breathing heavily as she calmed.

“Oh my,” she exhaled, then scrambled off him, freeing herself from his grasp and falling to the floor, crawling away from him.

“That was…” she looked up at him, hair tousled and cheeks red, tears streaming down her face: the very picture of lustful dissipation. “I must go.”

He watched her leave with furrowed brows. She looked to him as she opened the doors, and held his gaze for a moment too long. He tilted his gaze at her, befuddled, a pang of hurt slicing through him.

When she finally departed, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and licked himself clean of the taste of her, something indescribable in the pit of his stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on a break from social media, but I'm on Tumblr @ [arroways](https://arroways.tumblr.com/) and on Twitter @ arr0ways.


End file.
